


Pack Up Your Troubles

by wackyjacqs



Series: Bizarre Holidays [221]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 04:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wackyjacqs/pseuds/wackyjacqs
Summary: “Carter!Where the hell is all of my stuff?”





	Pack Up Your Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ‘Particularly Preposterous Packaging Day’ (7 August). Set post-series. 
> 
> This did not turn out the way I had planned, at all...

Jack’s never been one for possessions. A lifetime devoted to black ops and the Air Force has a funny way of doing that to a person. But even before those days, when he was a rebellious teenager, he didn’t care for material things either, whether it was clothes or books or gadgets. It’s part of the reason why he happily packed just a duffle and went traveling for a few weeks before he joined the Academy. The bare essentials have always been fine and ensured he got by.

He has managed to keep a few items over the years that he does treasure however – such as an old hand-sewn quilt his grandmother had made and used, or Charlie’s first baseball glove, or his wedding ring from Sam – but aside from that, he’s always viewed everything else as _stuff._ He’s no real emotional attachment.

As he lifts a cardboard box onto the kitchen counter he briefly entertains the idea as to what he’d be like if he was a “possession kind of person” but then he shrugs to himself. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter because even if he did hoard items, his various deployments over the years, many of which the orders have been issued at very little notice, would have ensured he didn’t have the luxury of packing up his life. Just owning what is absolutely necessary, he tells himself.

Pulling back the parcel tape his mind jumps to more recent years. By the time he was appointed Head of Homeworld Security, for example, and moved to Washington he’d had even fewer personal items on him. Mostly, because he’d chosen to leave most of his belongings in Colorado Springs. He knows they’re safe there, still in his house. The only difference is that Sam is now living there too.

He pauses in his task and smiles. The thought of his home now being _their_ home always fills him with a warmth and sense of contentment, never ceasing to surprise him. His thoughts drift to his wife. He wouldn’t necessarily say Sam was a possession-driven kind of person either. At least, he never used to think that, but over the years more and more of her items have made their way into his house – even before they got together. He doesn’t mind in the slightest though but he does find himself wondering where everything comes from because when she isn’t off-world, she is with him and he knows with absolute certainty, that when they are together, the last thing they are doing is shopping.

With another shrug, he opens the cardboard box in front of him and tells himself that it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Because now he is heading home – back to Colorado Springs and finally retiring.

Last weekend, Sam had flown out to Washington to help him pack up his apartment. They didn’t achieve as much as they’d planned (it had been five weeks since they last saw each other, after all), but they’d made a start and he’d insisted that he could be trusted to complete the task during the week and organize to have the boxes shipped.

However, he now has just two days before he leaves D.C. for good – and he can no longer find any of his belongings.

So, when he doesn’t see anything of use in the box he’s just opened, he pushes it to one side, lifts another onto the workspace and opens it too. In total, he opens five different boxes before he ends up staring in confusing at what he’s now faced with.

Samantha Carter; his wife, astrophysicist extraordinaire, and one of the best officers he’s ever served with, is one of the most organized, meticulous people he knows.

But this is a _mess._

There are plates mixed in with towels; his boxer shorts are in a box with his fishing gear; and his shaving gel is in another box with some of his National Geographic’s.

He runs a hand over his face and unable to deal with the chaos, he quickly pulls his cell phone from his pocket. She answers on the third ring.

_“Hi.”_

“Hey, Carter. Got a question for you.”

There’s a brief pause before he hears her sigh. _“Yes?”_

“What system did you use when you decided to pack up my belongings?”

_“Um –”_

“My stuff is everywhere.”

_“Does it really matter?”_

“Wh – _what?_ Yes, it matters,” he replies curtly, his frown deepening as he shoves another box aside. “I can’t find any of my things!”

_“I only packed what you told me to pack.”_

“This isn’t my fault. I said –”

_“You said,”_ Sam interrupts, and he swears he hears the amusement in her voice, which only serves to dampen his mood further, _“and I quote, “Packing sucks”.”_

“Well, it does.”

A half-hearted murmur of agreement travels over the line. _“So, you left the organizing to me. I did say to store everything you would need this week in your study.”_

“No, you didn’t.”

_“Yes, I did.”_

“No–” He pauses in his argument and wonders if she did make such a suggestion because it _is_ a clever suggestion and _definitely_ sounds like something she would have said. “I don’t remember that,” he opts for instead.

_“Well, you probably wouldn’t.”_

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

_“You were a little... distracted, at the time.”_

“I don’t –” Suddenly, his mind is full of images from the weekend and he distinctly remembers telling Sam “packing sucks” as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, made a crude joke about “sucking” and then – “Oh.”

_“Yes?”_

But he refuses to admit that his wife is right – again. “_Carter!_ Where the hell is all of my stuff?”

_“If it isn’t lying around, it is probably safe to say it’s already been packed.”_

“How do I know which one to open?”

_“Jack,”_ she says and he resists the urge to roll his eyes, _“if it’s in a box, you don’t need it, and you’re going to unpack them all when you get home. It’s fine.”_

“What if I do need this item?”

_“Then you should have paid more attention when I was putting things away.”_

“Yeah, about that,” he grumbles. “My clothes are currently spread across three boxes and I’m pretty sure they’d fit into one.”

_“Are you re-opening all of the boxes?”_

“Yes.”

_“Why?”_

“I told you. I need something.”

_“What could you possibly need that’s so important?”_ she laughs,_ “I know for a fact that I didn’t touch any of your work.”_

He glances at his watch and realizes that his driver is due to arrive at any moment. Running out of time, he decides just to come clean.

“If you must know, I was looking for my yo-yo.”

_“Your yo–”_

There’s a beat of silence that passes and he wonders if Sam is now thinking of ways to divorce him over his childishness.

_“Have you even stepped inside your study since I left?”_

“No,” he hesitates. “Why?”

When she speaks, her voice is soft and warm and he can hear her smiling. _“Go, look.”_

He spins on his heel and makes his way towards the room in question and when he flings open the door he finds his red yo-yo sitting exactly where Sam said it would be. With a grin, he scoops it up and shoves it in his pocket. It’s only then, he notices, that it was sitting alongside his GameBoy and a comic book.

“Sam –”

_“I knew you’d get bored,”_ she answers simply.

He's just about to make a quip about just _how well_ she knows him when the sound of a car horn signals the arrival of his driver and he sighs.

“I gotta go.”

_“I know,”_ she says quietly, _“enjoy your meetings.”_

“Ha _ha,_” he responds.

He's halfway to the car before he disconnects the call and it’s only when he pulls the yo-yo from his pocket and throws it into his briefcase that he smiles. He’s a feeling that his meetings are going to go just fine now that he has a distraction to get him through.

Sometimes he really, _really_ loves his wife.


End file.
